


Wine of Life

by Femme (femmequixotic)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, post-OotP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder. Slytherins. An enchanted snake. Just another Weasley birthday. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Icarus as part of the 2004 Ron Ficathon.

_The wine of life is spilt upon the sand...  
\--Oscar Wilde_

\-------------------------------

_"Oh. Yes." He gasped quietly, arched his freckled hips upward. "Like that." _

Hands slid over his skin, warm lips covered him, taking him deeper.

He sighed. "Merlin."

A tongue lapped at the underside of his cock, circling the head slowly...

A shrill, incessant whine jerked Ron awake.

"Not again," he bleated, flopping his head hard against the pillow behind him. "Fuck."

He clambered from the bed, the chill morning air hitting his naked body, puckering pink-brown nipples. He stumbled over a discarded styrofoam take-away container on the floor, swearing under his breath as he wiped the clinging bits of leftover egg roll from his heel with the edge of a t-shirt.

He jerked the casement open and thrust his head out the window. "It's six o'clock in the morning, Charles," he shouted with a glare at the tow-headed Muggle teenager in the street below tugging at the door of his car, the alarm blaring wildly. "Can you not get that sodding pile of scrap metal fixed?"

The boy responded with a rude gesture that Ron returned, slamming the window shut behind him. "Ought to bloody well hex the little brat," he muttered.

He turned back to the bed and sighed wistfully at the comfortable dishabille of rumpled cotton and fleece. Christ. What he wouldn't give to curl back up in sheets still damp from last night's exertions, to relish memories of slender, pale fingers and an incredibly talented mouth.

A sparkle of light in the dishevelled linen caught his eye.

Coiled in a fold of the pillowcase was a necklace...a silver serpent collar, each scale exquisitely carved. Tiny eyes of oily black onyx glittered from the triangular head as Ron picked the necklace up carefully. He hefted it in his hand. Heavy. Too heavy for silver. Platinum then? The workmanship was incredible, even his untrained eye could discern that.

A tiny scrap of parchment protruded from the serpent's mouth. Ron unfolded it, grinning down at the familiar, impeccably neat penmanship. _Happy birthday._

He wrapped the serpent around his forearm, watching as the grey morning light glinted dully off the smooth scales; he stroked the head with his thumb, almost certain he could feel the faint pulse of life through the cool metal.

And then the serpent flicked a silvery tongue across the crook of Ron's elbow.

"What the--" Ron pulled at the snake; it coiled tighter around his arm. He fought down a wave of panic. "Stop it!"

The serpent slithered up Ron's arm, metal scales rippling across Ron's warm skin, It slid over his shoulder, its coils tightening against Ron's throat before settling loosely against his collarbone.

Ron tugged at the necklace, trying to pull it free. The snake hissed in irritation, raising its head to nip lightly at Ron's earlobe. With what could only be describe as a disdainful sniff, it tapped its tail sharply against Ron's cheek.

Ron winced. "Damn it."

He dropped his hands and stared into the wooden mirror across the room. It yawned back at him, blinking sleepy, carved eyes. "Very pretty, love," it murmured, shifting against the wall.

Ron touched the narrow, scaly curve of metal draped around his neck, watching in the mirror as the snake butted its head once against his fingertips. It was beautiful. Cursed without a doubt, but beautiful nevertheless.

"Ostentatious prat," he muttered, pursing his lips.

The mirror nodded, a sage twist of its wooden frame. "Nicest young man you've brought home in years, that one. Bit vain perhaps, but perfectly lovely manners. Very well brought up."

Ron pulled at the rope of platinum, attempting once more to unwind it. The serpent sank a tiny fang into his thumb. Ron glared at the petulant snake's reflection. "I can always hex you," he snapped.

Ron would have sworn that had the beast shoulders, it would have shrugged them.

The alarm clock across the room burst into life, clattering wildly across the night table on its stiff, curved legs, the shrill tin chimes at its top jangling loudly. "Get up, get up, GET UP!" It leapt in the air, arching and clanging and giggling and clacking far too brightly to prevent a pillow being heaved across the room at it.

Months of practise allowed the clock to dodge the flying cushion, and it blew Ron a metallic raspberry as it darted back behind a six-inch stack of Daily Prophets piled on one edge of the tabletop. It peered around the precarious tower of grey newsparchment, shaking its chimes in defiance once more before plopping down onto the scratched wood and resuming its quiet tick.

"Stupid clock." Ron pulled the counterpane over the bed, not bothering to smooth the sheets.

The clock clanked in indignation.

"Best hurry or you'll be late," the mirror called after him as he grabbed his robe and trousers from the floor and hurried towards the bath. "And make sure you wear clean pants! Your mother'd have my frame if you ended up in hospital without the proper undergarments!"

Ron paused, hand on the bathroom door, mouth open. "I should never have let Mum give you to me when I moved out. You nosy bint."

The mirror sniffed haughtily. "Who'd watch out for you then, I'd like to know?"

Lips tight, Ron slammed the bathroom door behind him, taking a churlish satisfaction in the squeal and rattle of the mirror against the wall.

***********************************

Auror Headquarters was in its usual Monday-morning state of bedlam as Ron made his way through the cluttered maze of cubicles, a stack of files clasped under one arm and a mug of steaming Darjeeling clutched in his fist.

"Mornin', Ron," a scruffy older wizard said, leaning out of his cubicle and scratching at his mangy beard. He coughed wetly into a tattered handkerchief, much to the disgust of the young woman across the aisle from him. "Kingsley's been looking for you. He's in a bit of snit on account of you being late." He chortled. "Again."

Ron grunted and nodded in reply, ducking into his cubicle with a sigh. Draco Malfoy was waiting for him, leaning back in his swivel chair, ankle on his knee.

"You're late, Weasley." Draco plucked the mug from Ron's grasp. "Not that I'm all that surprised. The day you actually show up to work on time I'll expect Merlin's imminent return. Or Atlantis rising at the very least. Alarm not working?"

"I hate that bloody thing." Ron dropped the files on his desk. "And I loathe you for giving it to me."

"You're the one who never manages to wake up in time." Draco cut off Ron's protest with a raised hand. "And don't blame me. I've tried everything else to get your indolent hide out of bed. The more pleasant rousings seem to make you even later." He raised an eyebrow as he sipped the tea. "Darjeeling? I see I'm making some progress with your Philistine habits."

Ron leaned against the desk, a slight sneer curling his lip. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco tossed a file folder on Ron's desk. "Report on the Mackenzie case from the Scene-of-Crimes officer. Complete with photography courtesy of your dear friend Creevey who, should I add, once again seems in need of supplementing his pitiful remuneration from the Prophet. You might think of telling your sister to cease slinging out the little poppets for a while." He twisted the chair back and forth, his pale blond ponytail catching on the back of the seat "You weren't here. Shacklebolt came to me." He smirked and clasped his hands behind his head.

Ron picked up the file and opened it. He stared down at the stark black-and-white photographs of a wizard sprawled across a appallingly plaid sofa, a gaping hole in his abdomen, his robe dark with blood. Plant cuttings were scattered across his body: flowers, leaves, shavings of tree bark. Shadows from various members of the Auror team investigating the death flitted across his still form.

"You left early this morning," he said, not looking at the other man.

"Yes."

Ron glanced over. "Could have woken me up."

Draco hooked a foot around Ron's hip and pulled him closer; the rounded leather tip of his boot circled over Ron's arse. He pulled the file from Ron's fist and flung it on the desk. The photos spilled out; the shadows clutched at the sides of the pictures' narrow white frames. "Could have," he murmured, sliding a hand up his lover's chest and curling his fingers around the nape of Ron's neck. His thumb fondled the short red curls there. "Didn't. Had to go home for clean clothes."

"You might as well leave a few robes at my flat," Ron said, his fingers closing around Draco's forearm. He rubbed it hesitantly, his palm skimming over the soft wool sleeve.

Draco's mouth grazed Ron's; his tongue swept across his lover's bottom lip. He kneaded his fingertips against the soft stretch of throat above Ron's robe.

Ron pulled back. "Not here." He glanced nervously at the cubicle entrance behind him. "Someone might come up."

Draco rolled his eyes. "How could I forget?" His fingers touched the sliver of platinum gleaming at the open neck of Ron's shirt. "I see you found your present."

"It found me," Ron said. "What I want to know is what the hell is it?" He pulled Draco's hand away. "Stop. Morality clause in the employment contract, remember? I can't lose my job, Malfoy."

Draco snorted. "Ridiculous policy."

"Tell the Minster." Ron felt the serpent slither over the nape of his neck, its blunt head rising over the edge of his collar. It hissed, its slick metal tongue tickling the underside of his jaw.

Draco held out a finger and the metal snake butted against it affectionately. "He likes you,"

"He?"

Draco nodded, scratching lightly underneath the snake's jaw. Ron felt the slick coils undulate against his skin. " Asklepios."

Ron stared at him in surprise. "It has a name?"

"Of course he has a name." Draco smoothed his fingertip over the platinum scales. "Asklepios is a family heirloom of sorts."

"Christ." Ron groaned. "Tell me you haven't given me some bloody cursed artefact, Malfoy. I do not need to start off my fourth decade with a hex hanging over my head."

The snake flicked its tail against his throat and raised up to stare him in the eye, its gaze unblinking, offended. Ron glared back at it.

Draco tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and scowled up at the man whose bed he had vacated only a few hours previously. "Trust a Gryffindor to jump to the conclusion that because a piece of jewellery is a Malfoy heirloom it must be Dark."

"Aren't they usually?" Ron sputtered, pushing the snake's head down. "The Ministry file on what's been removed from the Manor over the years is ten centimetres thick."

"He's not cursed. He was a..." Draco paused, contemplating, as he stroked the metal coils. "A companion of mine when I was a child." Asklepios' tongue darted over his thumb. "He's what got me interested in Animation Charms."

"Odd hobby that, you realise?"

"I could always have followed my father's interests, if you'd prefer," Draco said, his tone cool. "Engage in a bit of Muggle-torture, should I?"

"Point made." Ron tried once more to unwind the serpentine chain from his neck. Asklepios hissed and circled his throat, his cool scales gliding across Ron's skin. "It won't come off."

Draco shrugged. "I said he likes you. He's a mind of his own, Asklepios has."

A knock on the cubicle wall startled them both. Hermione Granger stuck her head around the corner, her brown hair twisted into a messy chignon, a thick file folder in her hand, interoffice memos fluttering wildly at her shoulders. "Birthday present, Ron. Toxicology sent down that report you requested-" She stopped, looking at Draco. "Malfoy."

"Granger." Draco gave her a cool smile. He stood up and stretched. Ron watched from the corner of his eye as his lover arched his slender frame, his grey wool overrobe swinging open to reveal a flash of white silk shirt and black wool trousers, both of which Ron was certain had been perfectly tailored by an exclusive shop in Sloane Square.

"I thought you were in the field today." Hermione pursed her lips. "The board says--"

"The board is wrong." Draco took a file from her pile and opened it, scanning down the neat columns of numbers and codes. "What toxicology report?"

"The Mackenzie case." Hermione looked at Ron. "You were right. Quentin found trace evidences of Erumpent DNA in the cauldron Homicide removed from the cottage. Looks like Mackenzie's lover at some point brewed a variation of Exploding Fluid." She shook her head. "Not incredibly bright of Mr. Benton."

"This surprises you? He is a Gryffindor, is he not?" Draco asked, not bothering to look up from the report. He flipped a page.

Hermione's mouth tightened. "How do you manage to work with him every day?" she asked Ron, jerking the file from Draco's hands.

"Don't you have work to do, Malfoy?" Ron reached for his tea.

Draco pulled the mug back, taking another sip of the cooling liquid. "I'm on my way to St. Mungo's to start the autopsy on Mackenzie. Given the toxicology, however, in combination with the gaping hole in his abdomen, I suspect cause of death won't be all that hard to determine." He stopped at the cubicle entrance. "Oh, and Granger, I'll see you tonight. At dinner? That is, if Weasley's remembered to invite you as well."

He stepped out of Ron's cubicle, a satisfied smirk on his face, mug of tea still cupped in his hands..

Hermione stared after him. "He'll be at dinner tonight? Your Mum's letting him?"

"He's my partner, Hermione."

Hermione sniffed. "I can't believe Kingsley paired him with you of all people. Why not stick Richardson with him? Or Sweeney? Wasn't he a Slytherin?"

Ron shrugged. "We work all right together, Hermione. He's not that bad when you get down to it. A prat, but not as much of one as he was in school. And he's a damn good forensic mediwizard."

"Yes, but he's--he's a Malfoy, Ron." Hermione batted away a persistent interoffice memo from Percy Weasley marked extremely urgent. "With all that entails."

Asklepios hissed sharply and writhed against Ron's neck, tightening his coils until Ron gasped. He put his hand to his throat. "Damn it!"

"What--" Hermione leaned forward and pulled Ron's collar aside. The snake raised his head, its onyx eyes glittering, fangs bared.

Hermione jumped back. "What is that?"

Ron stroked the gleaming scales. Asklepios lowered his head and flicked his tongue across Ron's collarbone. "Just a present from a friend."

Hermione peered at the snake, keeping her distance. Asklepios watched her carefully, hissing when she moved too close. "The same mysterious friend who's been occupying all your time lately?" At Ron's noncommittal shrug, she sighed and grabbed one of the reports, flipping it open briskly. "Right. Keep your secrets then. I'll go over these results with you."

Ron shook his head and took the file from her. "I'll read it later. I've an errand I think I want to run."

"You just got here," she protested.

"And now I'm leaving again." He kissed the top of her head. "I know what the report says. Erumpent DNA. Exploding Fluid. I'll call Walter Benton in for questioning again. Later."

He strode out of the cubicle, all too aware of Hermione's frown.

**************************

Ron ambled through Kensal Green's unkempt sprawl of ivy, moss-covered statuary and ancient gravestones. He passed the rusted iron and stained marble edifices that held such Muggle greats as Thackery and Trollope, barely giving them a second glance. He'd seen them all before.

His destination was one more recent, a small, nondescript white marble obelisk set underneath the starkly leafless branches of an ash tree. It was tucked in the corner of the cemetery, hidden in a minuscule mossy nook next to the stone wall. It gave the impression that should you not know of its existence, it would be impossible to locate.

He dropped to the cold ground next to the grave, setting down the small poesy of violets and asphodel he'd purchased from one of the myriad flower carts on a nearby corner.

"Hey, mate." Ron brushed a bit of moss off the headstone. "Thought I'd come by to see you for a moment." He paused. "It's my birthday today. I'm bloody thirty, can you believe it?"

Ron pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his robe, tapping one from the cellophane. "Don't tell Hermione," he said. "She thinks I quit two years ago." He stuck the fag between his lips and conjured a tiny blue flame in his palm. "Your fault, you know," he mumbled around the cigarette's unfiltered butt. "I didn't start until you left."

He shook the flame from his hand and exhaled slowly, the grey-white smoke drifting upwards. He sighed. "I miss you, Harry. You'd think after six years I'd get used to it, but some mornings I still get that same twinge when I open my eyes and you're not there, leaning over me with that goofy smile on your face."

He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and inhaled, blowing the smoke up towards the bare branches overhead. "Stupid prat. Had to go get yourself killed, didn't you? You-Know-Who couldn't do it, but some half-arsed twat barely out of Hogwarts could."

Ron pulled his knees to his chest and stared into the trampled mess of dull yellow blossoms and hairy, grey-green leaves at the base of the headstone. Henbane. Ugly flowers. Even more hideous smell. He wrinkled his nose against the fetid stench. A black and white magpie fluttered down from the tree with a sharp cry, settling on the top of the obelisk and preening its feathers. Asklepios raised his head and hissed once before coiling himself back around Ron's neck.

Ron took another drag off the cigarette. He coughed and knocked the ash off the end of the fag. "Hermione's good. I think she's worried about me. But then again, she always worries, doesn't she? She's been seeing this fellow at the Ministry. Thomas Matsuoka. Seems nice enough."

He fell silent for a long moment, watching as the magpie hopped to one edge of the headstone and quirked its head, staring intently at the ground.

"I'm still seeing Malfoy," Ron said at last. "And you're still the only one who knows. Ministry hasn't stopped cracking down on poufs." The magpie dove towards the frozen ground, its beak snatching sharply at the dead grass. It jerked a small worm from its hiding place, gobbling it down quickly.

"He's not you." Ron ran a fingertip over the name carved on the headstone, tracing the H slowly. "But I think maybe that's okay," Ron murmured, lifting the cigarette to his mouth once again.

The only sound was the quiet rustling of the breeze in the ivy. Even the magpie grew silent, its dark eyes glittering at Ron speculatively. Ron watched as a thin, waifish fox slipped through the headstones around him, his red-grey fur matted and snarled with brambles. He held his breath, waiting for the world to implode around him at his pronouncement.

It didn't.

He sighed and stood up, dropping his cigarette and grinding it under his heel. He banished the crushed butt, not particularly caring where it turned up. He bit back a small grin. With any luck, perhaps he'd find it swimming in Malfoy's tea.

"I'll come back soon," Ron whispered. A caress of his hand over the cold marble.

Asklepios slid over his shoulder, winding his way up Ron's neck. He bumped his snout against Ron's jaw, rubbing gently across the stubbled skin. Ron smiled imperceptibly and wrapped his wool robe tight around him. He turned, leaving behind the poesy, a bright splash of purple against the tangled grey grass.

**************************

The quiet strains of Mahler's _Symphony No. 6 in A Minor_ echoed through the morgue.

Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, Ron watched as Draco bent over a corpse levitating a few centimetres above a shallow, white porcelain basin. A slab of a rib cage, white bones jutting from the pink flesh, lay on one end of the basin, a plethora of bloody organs piled around it.

Draco's overrobe lay discarded across a nearby chair; a heavy canvas apron protected his ever-pristine shirt and immaculate trousers. He had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows; his dragonhide gloves were streaked crimson.

Draco pushed a few limp strands of hair from his forehead, using his bare forearm to avoid smearing blood across his pale skin. For all that the Slytherin worked with bodily fluids on a near-daily basis, he was pathologically fastidious about their coming into contact with his flesh.

Draco reached into the abdominal cavity and pulled out a dark red mass of tissue, plunking it casually into a small brass scale hovering next to him. "Liver. Advanced case of cirrhosis, most likely caused by overindulgence in Ogden's if the subject's florid complexion and expansive gut are any indication. Weight?"

The scale whirred. "480 grams," it wheezed. A quill on Draco's left immediately scratched across a waiting sheet of parchment, recording the measurement. "Tubby little wanker, warrn't he?" the scale asked, bobbing up and down under the weight of the organ.

Draco picked up the kidney and dumped it next to its mate. "Your commentary is not at all necessary."

"Bit mardy, ain't you? It's the truth, though. An' not like you ain't doin' it youself." The scale tipped forward and peered into the Y-incision. "Cor. Look at the size of them intestines."

Draco scowled at the scale, batting it away from the corpse.

Ron laughed and strode into the autopsy bay. "Told you not to Animate an object made in Birmingham, Malfoy."

"Better than one from the States--which was my other option." Draco pulled at the intestines, wadding them up in his hands and plopping them on the shuddering scale, whose weighing pan expanded immediately to hold the coiled organ. "At least this one, for all it's an absolute dolt, speaks a form of the Queen's English." He glared at the rusted brass contraption. "Although I'm considering removing the bloody charm if it doesn't shut up."

"You're gettin' on me pip too, you know," the scale warned. It skipped towards Ron, the intestines sliding from one side of the weighing pan to the other. "Worroh, Weasley. Your mate here's got a bob on hisself."

Ron stared at the scale. "I've no idea what that thing just said."

"Don't ask." Draco grabbed at the intestines, catching them just before they tumbled to the floor. "I can assure you it wasn't complementary." He tucked the slick organ back onto the balances. "Now, if you can manage to spit it out without excess elucidation, intestinal weight?"

"Too blasted damn much," the scale muttered. "Oh, don't cop the fork, lard 'ed," it said at Draco's dark look. "Thirteen kilograms. Christ. Bloke ought to have taken a sh--"

"Enough," Draco snarled, jerking the intestines from the scale and sending the antique balance tumbling backwards through the air. He set the organ in a basin of water, using his wand to make a long incision through one side, allowing the digested contents to wash out.

A putrid odour began to fill the room. Rotting food, bile, faeces... Ron gagged. Asklepios poked his head from Ron's robe and hissed, his coils slipping tighter around Ron's neck. Draco smirked. "Problems, Weasley?"

Ron ignored both the mocking tone of his lover's voice and the insistent lurching of his stomach. He turned around and stared at the body lying in mid-air, fingertips absently stroking across Asklepios' head. The snake settled back against his skin. "So this is Mackenzie?"

Draco walked up next to him. "Your powers of deduction are once again impressive. Edwin Mackenzie, Caucasian male, age..." He checked his hovering notes. "Fifty-four years according to the basic body scan." He pursed his lips. "Ministry records say he's fifty-one, but I'd trust my scan over their records any day. The scan also said he hasn't had sex in over five months. Poor bastard. I suppose Benton really did want him out of the picture." He sniffed. "You'd think it would have been easier just to leave him." He flipped through the notepad, checking the quill's accuracy. "They were together for twenty-four years, you know."

Ron restrained himself from poking the hole in Mackenzie's belly. "Cause of death?"

"Rather self-evident, I'd say. A gaping crater in one's abdomen does not necessarily improve the quality of one's life." Draco leaned over the corpse. "His stomach exploded. Straight through the skin, it appears. All that's left of it is right here." He nodded towards a few thin strips of smooth muscle stretched out along one end of the basin.

Draco began to tuck the various organs into clear bags. "I'm sending a few samples up to Granger for a potion check. I suspect we'll discover that Mr. Mackenzie here did in fact ingest Exploding Fluid."

He shoved the bags into the empty chest cavity and set the rib cage back on top, pulling the Y-incision tight. A zip of his wand up the flaps of skin and they sealed tight, leaving behind a thin pink line that began to fade back into the pallid grey-white of the corpse. "Case closed."

Ron felt his own stomach twist. "Right."

"The only item of real interest is this." Draco held up a small plant root, twisted and gnarled. "I discovered it in his stomach cavity." He paused. "Or, at least, where his stomach would have been had it not detonated upon him."

Ron peered at the root. "What is it?"

_"Hyoscyamus niger."_

Ron gave him a blank look. "English, please?"

Draco snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" He dropped the root into a small glass phial and sealed the lid. "Henbane, you dolt."

"That plant that grows on graves?" Ron asked, surprised. "Nasty smell?"

Draco nodded. "Sprout did manage to insert something into that thick skull of yours."

"Sod off, Malfoy." Ron picked up the phial and shook it, watching the root rattle back and forth. "So, what's the significance of this?"

"Possibly nothing. The plant itself is toxic, but I doubt it caused his death."

Ron slid the phial into his pocket. "I'll enter it into evidence anyway. Feel like paying a visit to the Widower Benton?"

Draco peeled off his gloves and tossed them onto the basin. He brushed his thumb against Ron's bottom lip, his eyebrow quirking. "I can think of only one thing I'd like better."

Ron nipped at Draco's thumb. "Not likely." He glanced around. "Particularly not here. Bit morbid."

Draco snorted. "Coward." He untied the canvas apron and pulled it off, rolling down his sleeves in the process. "Well, if I'm not to get to bugger you, we might as well go bugger dear Walter." He reached for his overrobe, a nasty smile curving his lips. "I do so enjoy spoiling people's days, don't you?"

****************

The door of the ivy-draped Mackenzie-Benton cottage in Sussex was painted crimson.

Ron pounded on it, causing the tiny glass panes set on either side of the doorjamb to rattle in their frames.

Draco sighed and leaned against the stone wall of the cottage, arms crossed. "I would say he's not at home."

Ron shook his head. "He's there." He reached for the doorknob only to be zapped by a ward. "Shit." He stuck his burned fingers in his mouth.

"So you're a Seer now?" Draco pulled his wand out. "Merlin help us all." He cast a Ward-Breaking Charm and pushed open the door.

"Technically that's illegal, Malfoy." Ron reached for his own wand.

"Technically, yes, it is." Draco dipped a quick bow. "After you?"

"Show-off."

Draco smirked and followed Ron into the house.

Ron glanced around the gloomy sitting room, taking in the overstuffed chairs, the lace doilies draped over various chair arms. A fire crackled in the hearth. "Benton?"

No answer.

"Too quiet," Draco murmured.

Ron nodded. "You check the back. I'll go upstairs."

Ron made it halfway up the meandering staircase before Draco's shout stopped him. Asklepios writhed against his throat. A wave of nauseous horror washed over Ron.

He raced into the kitchen, wand at the ready. The stench of blood and faeces and death filled the room. Draco crouched over a figure collapsed on the floor. He looked up as Ron walked in. "Meet Walter Benton," he said grimly.

Ron stared down at the corpse, steeling himself not to vomit at the sight of the gaping hole in the man's chest. Leaves and flowers were strewn around the body, catching in the folds of his robe, spilling from his open hands.

The two men exchanged a glance.

"Case not so closed," Ron murmured.

****************

Ron stood at the small retaining wall, staring out across a small field towards an abandoned churchyard. Graves lined one side of the tiny stone chapel, headstones tilted and fallen. A short line of ancient yew trees hedged the back of the cemetery.

"Galleon for your thoughts," Draco said, coming up behind him.

Ron looked up at his partner, a frown creasing his forehead. "Something's off here."

"Horton's in there with his team," Draco said, nodding back to the cottage. "He thinks it might have been a murder-suicide. Evidently the couple has been having difficulties since Benton discovered Mackenzie with another man six months ago. Horton claims it's a case of poof killing poof, thus making the world a better place for decent wizards and witches." Draco curled his lip in disgust. "Direct quote, that."

Ron shook his head. "No." He looked back towards the churchyard. "Too neat." He paused a moment, then clambered over the retaining wall.

"Where the bloody hell are you going?" Draco jumped the wall after him.

Ron strode through the calf-deep grass, his robe catching on brambles and twigs. He didn't answer. Asklepios hissed. Ron had the distinct impression that the serpent was irritated with him.

Draco followed, roundly cursing Gryffindors in general and Weasleys in particular.

Ron squatted next to a grave, prodding at a plant winding its way up the headstone. He looked up as Draco approached. "I thought so." He pulled at the plant, his fingers slipping over the sticky leaves. "Henbane."

"You think the root came from here?" Draco poked at another plant.

"Among other things." Ron pointed towards the trees behind them. "The yew over there. The pennyroyal you're prodding."

Draco pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers. A minty aroma rose from the leaves he'd crushed. "The cuttings on the bodies.".

"What do you gentlemen presume to be doing?"

A tall, skeletal-thin man stood before them, arms crossed over his chest, white hair blowing in the breeze, another middle-aged man a few feet behind him, wringing his hands, his glasses perched at the very tip of his sharp nose.

Ron stood up, dusting his palms off.

"We're investigating-" Ron broke off as Draco stepped firmly on his foot.

"And you are?" Draco asked coolly.

"Babbage. I'm the vicar here." The man glowered at the two wizards. "And I should appreciate it you both leaving the premises. Immediately. Or need I ring the constabulary? I shan't tolerate another desecration of our churchyard."

The two wizards exchanged a glance. "Desecration?" Draco asked.

Babbage's lips thinned. "There are superstitious fools in this village who dabble in the occult. Upturning graves, disturbing the dead for their own evil doings. Witchcraft. Conjuring of Lucifer himself."

Ron felt Draco stiffen next to him, heard the other man's sharp intake of breath. He scowled. "I highly doubt that," Ron snapped.

Babbage's eyes blazed. "I did not ask your opinion, sir. I merely stated a fact." He glanced backward. "Andrew?"

The bespectacled man stepped forward, tugging at his salt-and-pepper fringe. "Yes, sir?" His voice was nervous, tense.

"Ring the constable." Babbage turned on his heel, his robe swirling around him, and stalked back to the church.

Andrew met Ron's gaze, glancing away quickly. His pale cheeks flushed, and he turned to follow the vicar into the church, darting one last look back at the wizards.

Ron watched him through narrowed eyes. "Odd sort for a churchman."

"Muggles." Draco glared back at the church. "Lucifer indeed. Not even the Dark Lord bothered with conjuring up the devil." He bent down and broke off stalks of pennyroyal and henbane, tucking them in the pocket of his robe.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"I'm going back to the Ministry," Draco said. He started towards the cottage. "I'll test these samples against the cuttings in evidence. I should be able to find out if they came from the same soil at the very least."

"We've dinner tonight. You remember that, right?" Ron hurried after him, pulling his robe close against the sharp wind.

Draco stopped and strode back to him. He jerked Ron close and kissed him hard. "I'll be there. Six o'clock. Slytherin honour."

He Apparated.

"Oh, bloody wonderful," Ron muttered under his breath. "I know I for one am reassured."

He stomped back to the cottage and to a re-examination of Walter Benton's corpse, dreading his fellow Aurors' nervous titters and joking prattle about poufs and arse-bandits and other social deviants.

He sighed, squared his shoulders, and pushed the kitchen's Dutch door open.

****************

The Leaky Cauldron's upstairs private room was brimming with various Weasley kith, kin and friends. Children dashed from corner to corner, shouting with laughter as the adults hushed them to no avail.

Ron stood next to the fireplace, Fred and George with him, both talking over one another, explaining with great enthusiasm their upcoming plans for the next exciting line from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ron nodded from time to time when it seemed appropriate, his gaze returning to the door. It was quarter til seven, and Draco still hadn't arrived.

He jumped as Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "I want to talk to you." She glanced pointedly at the twins. "Alone.".

"You wound us, Hermione," Fred said, mock despair tingeing his voice. "Truly."

"I'm certain you'll live," she replied. "Ron?"

Ron took her elbow and led her to a quiet corner. "What is it?"

Hermione looked a bit uncomfortable. "I had time on my hands this afternoon." She twisted her glass of wine between her fingers, staring down at the swirling red liquid. "I looked up your present in the Ministry files." She raised her eyes to Ron's, her brows furrowed in worry. "There's something I think you should know."

Ron stared at her, his mouth open, a cold fury mixing with icy dread in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his jaw as Asklepios slithered across his collarbones, twisting nervously. "You did what?"

"Don't get angry," Hermione protested. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't cursed. It--it's registered with the Ministry as a Malfoy artefact, Ron."

"Of course it's a Malfoy artefact," Ron said, a bit too loudly. Several heads turned their direction. Ron gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. "Who the bloody hell do you think gave it to me?"

"You took it from him?" Hermione's breath caught. "Willingly? Oh, Ron..."

"What does difference does it make? " Ron stepped closer, glaring down at her. "He's already told me it's not cursed, and no matter what you say about him, Hermione, the fact remains that I trust the monstrous git. Whether you like it or not. He's saved my arse too many times over the past five years not to."

"It's not cursed."

The quiet statement caught Ron's attention. "Then what's your point?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "The Malfoys don't exchange betrothal rings."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"You and Malfoy," Hermione said, glancing around. No one was paying them any attention. "You're together, aren't you?" She licked her bottom lip. "Like you were with Harry," she whispered.

"What?" Ron said, his panic rising. He felt his heart thud against his chest.

"You'd have to be," Hermione continued, ignoring him. "It wouldn't work if you weren't. It's not possible."

"Hermione." Ron grabbed her upper arms and shook her gently, sloshing the wine in her glass over her hands. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Hermione blinked, her eyes drifting down to the flash of platinum at Ron's throat. "That." She pointed at Asklepios, who slithered up Ron's neck and peered at her, dark eyes glittering. "It's not just a necklace. It's sentient magic. Protective magic. All woven into one." She looked at him. "It's very old wizardry, bordering on Dark." She took a deep breath. "That necklace is part of the Malfoy betrothal contract, Ron."

Ron stared at her, speechless. She hurried on.

"According to the records I found, the necklace decides if the betrothed is an appropriate match for the Malfoy heir. If it does, it forms some sort of a connection between the two, seals the contract in some way. I'm not quite sure how. The records were rather vague on that particular point. But I do know that the last person registered in the Ministry files as being accepted into the contract was Narcissa Black." Hermione hesitated, not meeting Ron's eyes. "Until today."

Ron held his breath, studying Hermione's distraught expression. He had a bad feeling...

Hermione bit her lip. "Your name was after hers." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. "I took it. I thought it would be for the best if no one in the Ministry found it, current atmosphere being what it is."

"What?' Ron took the parchment, stunned. His eyes skimmed down the list of names, shaking his head. It was a veritable Malfoy genealogy. His name was inscribed neatly across the bottom. He ran a hand through his ginger hair, pulling at it so that it stood up wildly. "That's--no. It's preposterous. He wouldn't have--not without--" Ron broke off, jaw tight. He looked away, crumpling the parchment in his hand.. "I'm going to kill him," he muttered.

Hermione clutched the stem of her wineglass tightly. She paused, then glanced up at Ron. "Malfoy, Ron? Of all people? What would Harry--"

"Don't, Hermione." Ron's voice was low, warning.

Hermione blinked again. She studied Ron, pondering. "Do you love him then? Malfoy?"

Ron gave her a long, contemplative look. "I don't know."

"Harry--"

"I said don't." Ron's lips thinned. "What Harry and I had..." He dropped his gaze. "I can't have that with anyone else, Hermione. Ever. This thing with Malfoy, it's different. Not better, not worse. Just different." He met her troubled gaze. "And I'm all right with that."

Hermione gave him a weak smile, took a sip of her wine, and looked away. Her hand shook slightly. "Be careful. The Ministry wouldn't have liked you being with Harry if they had known. Malfoy would be twice as bad."

Ron nodded.

She walked away.

******************

Ron checked his watch again. Six after eight. He sighed as Asklepios shifted fretfully against him, the snake's cool scales slithering across his overheated skin. Where the bloody hell was Draco? Ron glanced towards the door for the hundredth time, gritting his teeth. His hands itched to wrap around that scrawny pale throat--

"Expecting someone?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt handed Ron a glass of whisky. "Here. Seems you could use this."

Ron downed half of the glass in one sip. "Have you seen Malfoy?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual voice. From Kingsley's raised eyebrow, he assumed it wasn't. Shit.

"I thought the way you two are-" Shacklebolt broke off at Ron's choked cough. He smiled faintly. "I'm an Auror, Weasley. I can see what's in front of me. And, frankly, Ministry or no, I don't care what you two do in your private life as long as you both are adequate in your jobs." He sipped his scotch. "I thought he told you where he was going."

Ron's breath hitched. "Told me what?"

Shacklebolt frowned. "He was going to Hogwarts. To see Snape about something he discovered in the toxicology reports on Mackenzie."

Ron stared at him, his face blank. He drained the remainder of his whisky and set the glass down with a sharp thump. "He didn't tell me. He just said he'd be here by six."

A long silence.

"Not like him to be late," Shacklebolt said finally.

"No."

Asklepios writhed again. Scattered impressions filled Ron's mind...darkness, a narrow room, lichen-covered walls, damp stone floor. Fear. Panic. Barely controlled. Ron shook his head, unsettled. "Something's not right," he said at last. "I don't know what, but it's not."

Shacklebolt grunted and set down his glass. "You go ahead to Hogwarts. I'll locate Tonks and we'll be right behind you."

Ron nodded and started for the door. "This is turning into one sodding hell of a birthday."

*******************

Snape pulled from the shelf a jar of some indescribable creature floating in a milky liquid. He set it on the worktable, giving Ron a level look.

"Mr. Malfoy came to see me with a question about a potion. One that might replicate the effects of Exploding Fluid with additional side effects."

Ron watched as Snape fished one of the scaly beasts from the brine and slapped it on the cutting board. He winced as Snape picked up a wickedly slender knife and began to dice the whatever-it-was into minute, precisely proportioned pieces.

"He showed me a toxicology report indicating the presence of trace elements of Erumpent DNA, as well as large quantities of yew, asphodel, and pennyroyal." Snape scraped the diced creature into a steaming cauldron. The liquid steamed and roiled. Ron stepped back.

"Should any living creature ingest any of those particular plants," Snape continued, "they should immediately find themselves having violent seizures and foaming at the mouth. Their internal organs would shut down upon them within a matter of hours, if not minutes."

Ron nodded. "So the potion poisoned them."

"From what both Mr. Malfoy and I conjecture, the initial death was caused by acute toxic poisoning." Snape added a drop of dragon's blood from a phial to the cauldron. "The Erumpent DNA was part of a second potion most likely injected into the already dead corpses."

"Why?" Ron shook his head. "It makes no sense. Covering up a murder by making it look like a murder?"

Snape stirred the potion in front of him slowly, frowning down at it. "Use your brain for once, Mr. Weasley," he said archly. "It wasn't the murder that was to be hidden. You do recall what the magical schematics of those herbs are, do you not?"

Ron sighed. "No." He did not need a lecture at the current moment. Unfortunately, Snape was notorious amongst the Aurors for doling out valuable information only in the midst of some mind-numbing discourse on magical theory.

Snape snorted. "Not surprising." He pulled the ladle from the potion and set it aside, taking the cauldron from the small fire. He wiped his hands on a rag. "All are common elements in death magic. Dark magic."

Ron pulled the glass phial containing the henbane root from his pocket, cutting off Snape's possible sermon about the benefits of said occult philosophy. "What about this?"

Snape took the phial, holding it up to the light. He slid the snippet of root onto his palm, rolling it from side to side. "Interesting," he murmured.

"What?" Ron asked, leaning closer.

Snape stepped back with a frown. He pointed to a line of tiny runes carved into one side of the dried bark. "These runes are only used in necromancy spells. This combination in particular binds the essence of a dead organism to living being." Snape leaned closer, his eyes glittering. "Based on the evidence, I would say your killer wanted his victims' souls, Mr. Weasley."

Asklepios hissed softly, pushing over Ron's skin. An image popped into his mind... fingers reaching towards him, still caked with grave dirt. Ron's jaw dropped.

"I've got to go to the church."

******************

Beams of light arced through the darkness, glancing off the weather-beaten headstones. Aurors wandered through the graveyard searching for anything that might indicate Draco's whereabouts.

Ron watched them from the church steps, lips pursed. Asklepios lifted his head and stared out at the Aurors, tightening his coils around Ron's neck. He hissed, his metal tongue flicking against Ron's jaw. Ron stroked the snake's head with a sigh. "What I wouldn't give to be a Parseltongue," he murmured, his thumb sliding across the smooth scales of the necklace. "Where is he? Do you know?"

A windowless room. A rancid mattress in one corner.

Cold. So cold. Hurts.

Ron dropped his hand, blinking.

Tonks trudged up the steps, her face sober. "No sign of him, Ron."

"He's here." Ron shook his head. "I know he is."

"Ron-"

Ron felt something in him snap. "Just keep looking, damn it." He turned on his heel and strode into the church, barely aware of Tonks' half-hearted attempt to stop him.

Ron walked up the narrow centre aisle, his hand bumping lightly across the pew backs as he passed them. It was silent, still. The Aurors had searched it thoroughly before heading out to scour through the graves.

Asklepios squirmed, raising up once more. He stared towards a door in the side of the nave, his black eyes glittering.

Ron hesitated for the briefest moment, then jerked the door open. Dusty tomes filled the tall bookcases that stretched from wall to wall in the minuscule office; cracked parchments were stacked along one side of an ancient desk, its surface marred with deep scratches and burn marks.

Asklepios looked around almost wildly, his hisses echoing through the empty room. He butted his head against Ron's chin, pointing his snout towards one of the bookcases. Ron frowned and strode over, wand out.

Ron stared at the bookcase, his fingers sliding through the thick layer of grime covering the wood. His fingernail found a small groove stretching from floor to ceiling. He tugged at the hidden door, only to find himself knocked halfway across the room. He clambered to his feet.

"Bloody hell." Ron cast a Revelation Charm, stepping back as a frantic explosion of blue and green sparks rippled along the edges of the bookcase. Wards. Simple ones, but wards nevertheless. He frowned. This was definitely not the work of a Muggle vicar.

A matter of minutes later, the door swung open. A set of wide stone steps curved down before him, leading into darkness.

Ron took a deep breath, rapping himself sharply on the head with the tip of his wand. Cold trickles slithered across his skin as the Disillusionment Charm took hold.

He stepped into the darkness.

*****************

The room was shadowed, narrow. Windowless. The only light came from a tiny bare Muggle light bulb dangling precariously from a wire in the ceiling.

A bare mattress was shoved into the furthermost corner, Draco's limp body sprawled across it. Blood streaked one side of his face, streaming from a deep cut on his temple and his robes were torn and filthy. A purple-black bruise marred his pale cheek; his left eye was swollen shut. Ron felt a surge of anger sweep through him.

Asklepios hissed against his skin, twisting wildly. Footsteps clattered behind him.

"Finite Incantatum." The whisper echoed in the silent room.

Ron whirled, wand out. Walter Benton's narrow face flashed before him. "Stup-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Ron's wand shot from his hand; the force of the spell knocked him backwards, slamming him into the wall. His head cracked sickeningly against the rough-hewn stone.

Everything went dark.

**************************

Ron woke to an aching throb in the back of his skull and lips hard against his.

The mouth pulled away and a pair of hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing lightly. Ron opened one eye. Draco's battered face hovered over him, twisted into an irritated scowl. "Idiot Gryffindor. I ought to have expected you to do something completely mad like this."

Ron sat up on the mattress, rubbing the lump on the back of his head. "What the hell was that?"

Draco settled next to him. He glared at Ron out of his good eye. "That would be our local psychopath. I didn't see my assailant's face." Draco touched his cheek gingerly, frowning down at the flakes of dried blood that stuck to his fingertips. He wiped his hand against the mildew-streaked mattress in disgust. "I suppose it's far too much to ask that you might have?'

Ron looked away. "Walter Benton."

"He's dead."

Ron shrugged. "I'm telling you what I saw. I saw Benton. Whether or not it was actually him is debatable, given his state the last time we saw him. But whomever it was is definitely not a Muggle." He stared up at the flickering light bulb. "I followed you to Hogwarts. Snape says it's necromancy."

"So I discovered." At Ron's surprised look, Draco sighed wearily. "Something Snape said made me wonder. I thought I'd come over here and do a quick once-over before it got dark. I figured I'd use magic; the Muggles would never see me. The only problem was, someone around here isn't a Muggle." He shook his head. "Rather imprudent of me, really. I've been around you far too long." He leaned his head against the stone wall. "Although I found a few texts in the office that supported my hypothesis."

"Who is he?"

Draco shrugged. "If I knew that, we wouldn't be here."

"Is there a way out?" Ron asked, running his hand over the wall behind them.

"Once again, Weasley, if I knew that, we wouldn't be here." Draco pulled his knees to his chest. "I've looked. Repeatedly. The door's warded shut, and the bastard took our wands."

"Tonks is outside with a team of Aurors. They'll find us." Ron said it more for his own peace of mind than in any hope that it would be true.

Draco snorted. "Forgive my scepticism of our colleagues' capabilities."

They sat in silence.

Ron finally sighed. "Hermione told me what Asklepios is." At his name, the serpent lifted his head, twisted once before settling back against Ron's collarbone. "She found out about the contract and all." He pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket and tossed it on the mattress between them. "She took it." He met Draco's eyes. "To protect both of us."

A long moment passed before Draco replied. "How?" His voice was cool.

"Hermione has her ways." Ron picked at the striped ticking of the mattress. "You should have asked."

"What would you have said?" Draco stared straight ahead, his fingers clenching and unclenching around his knees. His features slid into the carefully schooled, blank expression Ron recognised as an indication that his answer was important to his lover. Far more important than the Slytherin was comfortable with.

"I don't know," Ron admitted. "Did you even think about what I wanted? You've never even said that you lo-"

"Well, I do."

Ron blinked. "Oh." A long pause stretched between them. Ron swallowed. "I suppose I do as well," he said, his voice a bit husky. He brushed his fingers against Draco's wrist, pulling them back almost as soon as he touched the other man's skin.

Draco looked over finally, his expression still guarded.

"Although if we get out of here," Ron continued. "I'm still going to kick your arse for this." He grinned. "All of it."

Draco's lips twitched. "Then I suggest we find a way out of here." He uncurled himself, stood up, still slightly wobbly, and grabbed Ron's hand, pulling him to his feet. "I would so hate to disappoint your violent urges."

**********************

They had just begun examining the last wall when the door burst open.

A cloaked figure entered, a steaming cauldron bobbing behind him. The door slammed shut, wards crackling closed. The hood slid back from the man's face. Walter Benton's beaked nose stood out in the dim light of the room.

"You might as well stop," he said mildly. "You'll not find a way out. Although it is rather amusing to watch you scamper about like caged mice."

Ron took a step forward, his fists clenched. "Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?" Benton dropped his cloak.

"Not Walter Benton," Draco said. He eyed the man in front of him.

Benton's face twisted, stretched, morphing into the florid jowls of Edwin Mackenzie. Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. "Better?"

"I don't think so." Draco shook his head. "So sorry, but if you're going to attempt to kill us--" he shot a bored glance at the cauldron"--as it appears is your want, don't you think we at least deserve to know whom our murderer might be?"

Ron gave him an incredulous look.

Mackenzie laughed. "Ballsy little git, aren't you?" His face shimmied again, falling into thin, sharp features. A pair of wire-rim spectacles materialised on the tip of his nose. The man gave them a curt bow. "Andrew Benedict, at your service," he said. "So very pleased to meet you again, Mr. Malfoy. I knew your father once."

Draco's jaw tightened. "That's not exactly a sterling recommendation."

Andrew shrugged. He gave the contents of the cauldron a lazy stir with one long finger. He pulled it out and extended his forearm, the loose sleeve of his robe falling back to his elbow. The faint outline of a Dark Mark scarred his pale flesh. "He forced this upon me many years past. I do hope you'll give him my regards when next you see him."

"He's dead," Draco said flatly.

"I know." Andrew pulled a wand from his robe. A quick flick towards the two men and thin cords wrapped around them. "Do forgive me. But it makes this process so much easier."

"Why'd you kill them?" Ron asked, struggling against his bonds. "What possible purpose could you have?"

"There are elements in this world that must be removed for the betterment of society as a whole, Mr. Weasley," Andrew said, tightening Ron's ropes with a wave of his wand. "And Edwin was such a temptation." A shudder of revulsion shook his thin frame. "I tried to resist."

"You're the one he slept with," Ron said, understanding dawning. "You killed him because he buggered you."

Andrew's lips thinned. "He did not bugger me, as you so crudely put it."

"Then what did he do?" Ron snapped. "Suck you? Wank you? Did you like it? Was that why you killed him?"

Andrew struck Ron across the temple, knocking his head back. Pain exploded behind Ron's eyes, rocking him on his heels.

"Silence."

"That's it, isn't it?" Ron blinked past the trickle of blood dripping into his eye. "And then you killed Benton. Jealous, Benedict?"

"I took them both to purify them," Andrew snarled. "To cleanse them from the evil that pervaded their souls. The same evil that brought forth the Dark Lord and his followers. Bad enough they were blemished by the magic in them. But to have that other sin..." He trailed off, a haunted look in his eyes. "I had no choice but to save them. To make them part of myself."

"You're completely nutters," Ron said, his throat closing up on him. Asklepios flicked his tongue across his skin. Ron swallowed hard.

"Why did you hide in the Muggle world? In a Muggle church?" Draco stood still, watching the older man conjure a small crystal goblet and dip it in the potion.

Andrew swirled the potion against the glass. "I think that should be obvious, Mr. Malfoy. What better place to renew my devotion to my father's God, to recant my mother's evil heritage?"

"But you haven't recanted it," Draco pointed out. His eyes dropped to the bubbling cauldron. "Unless you'd care to explain how one might create a potion sans magic."

"My God allows my weakness to be used for His benefit. He is the Judge. I am merely His means of discipline." Andrew held the glass to Draco's lips. "Drink." He pressed his wand to Draco's jaw, forcing the younger man's mouth open with a spell.

Draco glared balefully at him, gagging as the foul liquid slid down his throat.

Ron jerked forward, pulling wildly at the cords around his arms. Draco collapsed on the floor, his body shaking. "Spit it out. Goddamn it, Malfoy!" Ron's voice rose in panic. "Christ! Spit it out!"

Andrew grabbed Ron by the throat, his fingers tight around Ron's oesophagus. "Blasphemer," the man snarled at him, flecks of his spittle striking Ron's cheek. He shoved the goblet to Ron's lips. Ron choked, pressed his lips firmly together, refusing to drink.

A sharp hiss sounded next to his ear. A silver blur shot out; smooth coils unwound themselves from his neck. Andrew stumbled backward with a wail, the goblet sliding from his fingers. It shattered on the floor; potion splashed across the room. Andrew clawed at the platinum serpent wound tight around his throat, fangs sunk into his fleshy underjaw, coils garrotting the pale skin of his neck, turning his face blue-purple.

Ron watched in shock as the wizard's body jerked, writhed on the floor, mouth open in a silent scream until he at last fell still. Two pale wisps of vapour drifted from his open mouth towards the ceiling. Silver-blue sparks flew around the room, crackling around the doorjamb.

The door slammed open, the wood shattering against the wall.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs, voices shouted.

Ron pulled the loosed cords from his arms and dropped down next to Draco's shaking body, turning the Slytherin onto his side, pushing his finger deep into the other man's mouth, gagging him. He held Draco close, pulled back his pale hair, stroked his clammy forehead as the other man vomited, bringing up the rancid potion in heaves.

Aurors filled the room, steel-toed boots clattering on the cobblestone floor.

Ron wrapped his arms around his lover, rocking Draco's trembling body, shushing him softly, barely aware of Tonks kneeling next to them. He stared down at Draco's pallid face, at his closed eyes. "I can't lose him too," he whispered.

Tonks rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I won't let you."

Ron nodded, allowing her to levitate Draco's limp body.

He crawled across the floor, looking down at Andrew's swollen, mottled face. He fought back a surge of nausea. He ran a finger across the smooth platinum of Asklepios' scales. The serpent lifted his head at Ron's touch. Ron held out his hand. With a faint hiss, Asklepios unwound himself, slithering across Ron's palm and coiling around his wrist.

Ron stood slowly, wincing as he walked through the silent throng of Aurors, head held high.

**********************

Draco sat in a chair next to the narrow window, his robe wrapped tight around his slender frame, a small black leather satchel at his feet. He stared blankly through the grime-encrusted glass, paying no attention to the few scattered occupants of the St. Mungo's waiting room. A sheet of parchment bearing the Ministry seal dangled from his fingertips.

He jumped, startled, as Ron squatted next to him.

"Hullo."

Draco gave him a thin half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You got the owl too," Ron said, nodding towards the parchment. "Tonks and Shacklebolt tried. But too many people knew. It was over the entire building before we got back form here." He sighed. "Shitty birthday present."

"Not the best of days to be terminated," Draco agreed dryly.

"Sod them," Ron said, his voice rough. "Sod them and sod their bloody morality clause. They're no better than Benedict. They're just not as obviously mad." He touched Draco's hand, twined his fingers through his lover's. "We'll find something else."

"Who needs the Ministry, eh?" Draco asked, his lips twitching in amusement. "You're such a Gryffindor, Weasley."

Ron shrugged. "And you're such a Slytherin. Don't you lot always land on your feet?" He grinned. "Besides, you're rich. I'll live off you. I've always wanted to be a kept man."

"Merlin." Draco looked heavenward. "How the bloody hell did I end up with a poverty-stricken Weasley whose employment prospects are next to nothing?"

Ron kissed him, mouth soft and warm and wet, pulling back to trace his thumb across Draco's bottom lip. "I'll be damned if I know, Malfoy."

Draco's fingers brushed the flash of platinum at Ron's throat. Asklepios slid through the gap in Ron's collar and butted his snout against Draco's palm. "I want to go home."

Ron nodded and helped him to his feet. He picked up Draco's satchel, heaving it over his shoulder. They walked through the nearly empty waiting room in silence. Ron stopped in front of the grubby Muggle window display hiding the hospital entrance and nodded at the scruffy mannequin in the faded green pinafore dress. She tilted her head in return, and the glass in front of her shimmered, rippled.

Ron waved Draco into the blinding sunlight of the London street. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

Draco turned back to him, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

Ron stepped through the sheet of glass, shivering as its cool surface cascaded over his body. He pulled his lover close, brushed his mouth across Draco's jaw. "Next year, just get me Quidditch tickets for my birthday."

The window sealed shut behind them, leaving only the murky sight of the two entwined men silhouetted against the light.

The mannequin smiled.

**-fin-**


End file.
